


Relative Overcrowding

by Britpacker



Series: Life On Earth [11]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Family Fluff, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-08-15 17:13:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8065060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britpacker/pseuds/Britpacker
Summary: They bought a big family home when they were still just a couple.  Now they’ve got three kids and two pairs of in-laws descending, is it really big enough?  Given his difficult relationship with his own father, one of the proud daddies doesn’t think so.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** What began as a short “disastrous family visit” story, inspired by a single line in a much earlier fic (“Dear Doctor Phlox”) has developed into something much, much longer.

  
Author's notes: Trip, Malcolm and parenting duties. It's a combination made somewhere a little south of Heaven... As ever, italics represent a character's thoughts.  


* * *

"It's not fair!" His lower lip jutting out, Charles Tucker the Fourth stopped just short of stamping his foot as he glared from one parent to the other. "I don't wanna sleep in the baby's room, I want my own!"

"Now, Charlie, you know Granny and Grandpa and Gran and Granddad are all comin' up to see you and Melissa and t' meet Jamie." His joints creaking in protest Captain Charles Tucker the Third squatted onto his haunches and draped his hands over the narrow shoulders of his truculent firstborn. "And we can't fit any of them in the nursery now, can we?"

"Why're they all comin' at once?"

Ignoring the growl of "God knows!" from his husband Trip ploughed on, gazing direct into the steel-grey, glinting eyes of his namesake. "'Cause they all wanna say hello to Jamie together, and because they all miss you an' Melissa and it wouldn't be fair otherwise, would it?" he said, proud of the reasonableness of the argument. Charlie, with all the stubbornness of youth, remained visibly unimpressed.

"Lissa can have the nursery," he stated. Immediately his small sister, clinging to their other parent's pant leg, began to wail.

"You remember what you said when Daddy an' I brought Jamie home?" Leaving Malcolm to placate their daughter Trip stayed focussed on their son, increasingly determined he was going to win this particular battle of wills. When Granny Leanne arrived he'd have no chance of getting his way, after all.

"Yeah." Reluctance in every line of him, Charlie nodded. 

"You're a big boy now. Heck, you're almost five, goin' to school and everything. You've gotta help Daddy and me with the little guys."

" _Not_ a baby!"

"Of course you're not sweetheart, but Charles _is_ the oldest." Scooping the dark-haired girl into his arms Malcolm Reed finally got around to doing his part of the whole _parental control_ thing. "And he did say he'd help us look after Baby, didn't he?"

"I never said nothin' about my room!"

"Never said _anything_ ," the Englishman corrected automatically. The two Charles Tuckers in his life grinned at each other.

Sometimes it was hard for Malcolm to remember which of the pair was the adult.

"I bet Granny Tucker's brought you all sorts of presents," he said, repressing shudder at the memory of the last mass visit, shortly after Melissa's birth when his dining table had disappeared under a mountain of stuffed toys, dollies and pretty dresses. Even his daughter forgot her manners enough to shriek joyously right into his ear.

"Yeah, and because we're so close to your birthday buddy, I'll bet she's brought extra for you."

Sometimes, Malcolm considered, it was the parent rather than the child who seriously needed a mute switch. Melissa's exuberance evaporated while her brother seemed to stand an extra centimetre high.

"I'll git more presents!" Charlie hollered, loud enough to set the newborn who had been slumbering in his basket next door into noisy paroxysms of displeasure. "Granny's gonna bring me more'n she got for Lissa 'cause she loves me more!"

"No she doesn't! G'anny loves Lissa!"

"Of course she does; it's less expensive for her to bring your packages, Charles, than to send them, which she did for your sister." _Wonderful_. A large vehicle was drawing to a halt beyond their high iron gates, visible on the monitor installed beside the front door. Two children squabbling were about to become three red-faced, snotty nosed little horrors all howling as if the Hounds of Hell, pursued by a battalion of angry Klingons, were rampaging through the gardens.

So much for turning them out smart, clean and smiling for inspection by the older generation!

"Cut it out, willya, you've woken Jamie now!" The despairing cry of his other half recalled Reed to his responsibilities and without a moment's guilt he presented his immaculate shirt sleeve for his daughter's dripping nose, trusting Trip to offer the same service to her brother. "Dammit! They're all here at once!"

Instinctive discretion would have prevented Malcolm expressing it in front of the children but his heart sank at least as hard as his husband's at the sight of two couples clambering from the same large vehicle, the two men - one bronzed and burly, the other lean and sternly smart, bony wrists protruding from jacket sleeves just a little too short - wrestling together with a Himalayan range of luggage, boxes and bags while the ladies dusted their skirts down, flapped their hands and bickered over who should pay the cab fare. Lip-reading skills and surveillance devices - both of which Enterprise's former Chief Tactical Officer had at his disposal - were redundant. He'd seen the whole performance far too many times before.

"Melissa, be a poppet and find James's dummy for me," he implored, gently setting the child on her feet. "And Charles, kindly remember you're very happy to give up your room, even if you're not."

"Poppa?"  His smooth face wrinkling up with confusion, CT4 gazed up at the likeliest source of enlightenment. Trip grinned.

"Daddy means jus' say the right things to your grannies and grandpas, okay?" he said, ruffling the boy's hair in defiance of Malcolm's protesting squeak. " _We_ know you're only doin' it 'cause you're a good boy, but they'll feel bad unless they think it was your idea."

"But it's...

"Extremely kind and grown up of you, Charles."

When Malcolm Reed said "Charles" in that particular, velvety-steel voice, both owners of the name knew better than to answer back. "Right," the younger version agreed, pulling in his bottom lip with a visible effort. "Hi Granny 'n' Grandpa! Hi, Gran an' Granddad! We got a baby brother!"

"Well haven't you _grown!_ " Leanne Tucker, the smallest of the visitors, had an aura about her that cast the rest of the group into shade, and as she breezed up the garden path it was all being beamed her grandson's way. "Melissa, give Granny a kiss sweetheart, and Trip Tucker, don't you just stand there boy, help your daddy and Stuart with those bags. Malcolm, honey you look so _well!_ "

"Thank you, Leanne, I could say the same about you." Meekly submitting himself to his mother-in-law's effusive greetings Malcolm offered a smile to the rest of the newcomers and braced himself for the bone-crushing embrace that was his father-in-law's customary hello. "Mum - Dad. Hope the journey wasn't too uncomfortable. We weren't expecting you all to arrive together..."

"Neither were we, son, but when we saw your folks's flight was due right after our own we figured - hell, why not be sociable?" Having squashed his son breathless Charles Tucker II performed the same service to Malcolm before, with unexpected gentleness, gathering the two wide-eyed children into his arms. "My, you're a fine young lady an' gentleman now! Stuart, Mary, quit whinin' about the cab; you can pay on the way back, alright?"

"It's really not _on_ , Charlie, it's only proper we should make some recompense for your wait." Barely troubling to shake the hands of his hosts, Stuart Reed bent stiffly from the hip to brush cheeks with his grandchildren. Malcolm only hoped he didn't notice how Melissa tensed, a reflexive reaction he understood too well, when her turn came along. "There was really no need to wait an hour for us, we'd have made our own way perfectly well."

"That wouldn't have been family-minded of us now, would it?" Not for the first time it occurred to the younger Englishman that his Floridian family thoroughly enjoyed the elder Reeds' discomfort.

He wondered whether it was shockingly undutiful of him to feel the same.

"Just you leave those bags, Dad, and come see the baby," Trip commanded, taking easy charge of a situation rapidly careering down into chaos. "Charlie, Lissa, get out from under folks's feet! Malcolm and I'll deal with the luggage. Jamie's just woken up, so don't blame us if he's a little grouchy..."

"Aww, he's adorable!" Leanne Tucker made more noise, but Mary Reed's small squeal was the first sound Trip had detected beyond an inarticulate mumble as he had kissed the lady's pale cheek. "And isn't he just the _image_ of Malcolm?"

"You sure they remembered your DNA, son?" Charlie Tucker Senior - Malcolm shuddered at the thought of how embarrassing it had just become to chastise a son known by exactly the same diminutive as his grandfather - chortled, accepting the small bundle his wife offered with a confidence that made Stuart Reed blench. "There's nothin' Tucker about this one! Even Melissa looks more like you than he does!"

"Melissa has her digestive tract from Trip, just as Charlie does," Malcolm pointed out, less solemnly than he had intended in the face of triple-Tucker exuberance. "And her energy levels," he added as the little girl skittered around her grandparents' kneecaps, just managing to avoid clattering into her Granddad Reed. 

Even Leanne, he thought, drew in a sharp breath as that particular collision was narrowly avoided. "Why don't you all sit down and I'll get the kettle on?" he suggested hopefully.

"I'll come and help, dear." Trip sometimes said he didn't see anything of either in-law in his husband, but in her eagerness to escape being social Mary Reed was her son's perfect role model. "Coffee, Leanne - Charlie?"

"Please, hon." And if CT2 hadn't done that deliberately to see Captain Reed bristle, Malcolm Reed was changing his middle name from Andrew to Daisy by deed-poll. "Lee..."

"Hm?" Far too fascinated by her latest grandson's tiny toes, Mrs Tucker ignored the hint with blithe serenity. "Charlie, Melissa, you go grab Granny's handbag, okay? You don't mind them having candy at this time of day, kids, do you?"

"Just don't eat it all before dinner." Knowing when he was beat, Trip threw up his hands. "I'll go move your bags. Charlie's offered to give up his room, 'cause we didn't think either of you'd fit in the nursery...

"Aww, isn't that sweet?"

His father's neutral tone followed Malcolm all the way into their airy kitchen, where he pulled up so sharply his mother ran right into the back of him. "Dear!"

"Sorry, Mum."

To his great surprise, she squeezed his hand. "He's _trying_ to get along with people," she said in a hurried whisper. "It's not easy for your father, you know."

"Yes." There didn't seem much more to say. Mrs Reed's full lips quivered. 

"He might always have seemed very cold to you but he did try to be a _good_ father. He always provided for us..."

An explanation. A reason for the long absences, the stiffness; the occasional unconsidered cruelty toward a small, puzzled boy. All his life Malcolm had yearned for it. Now it was offered, he felt only embarrassment.

"It doesn't matter, Mum." Or perhaps, he mused, it was all just too late. "I presume Dad would prefer tea?"

When her pale moon face fell, he did something neither would expect. He hugged her.

And when she scuttled back to the lounge, away from further surprises, he thought she might even have enjoyed it.

Still, the next few days were going to be one hell of a trial!


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Families are funny things. Sometimes they even get along - sort of!

As the days of the visit crawled by Malcolm became increasingly grateful for the paternal leave he and Trip had taken together which meant pressures of work were removed, aware as he was that men, their hormones unaffected by the fact of carrying the new-born, were not supposed to suffer post-natal depression. Both grandmothers wanted to help, and he appreciated that. If only they hadn't wanted to help with the same task, at the same time.

"I'll feed Jamie for you, dear."

"No, Mary, I'll do that."

"Really, Leanne, it's no bother."

"Of course it's not, hon. C'mon Jamie, come to Granny!"

"Hey, Mom? You couldn't gimme a hand with the kids' toast?"

Not for the first time Malcolm Reed sent up a heartfelt prayer of thanks to whichever deity had directed Charles Tucker the Third into his life. Mrs Tucker's plump, pretty face glowed. She dropped her newest grandchild down into the arms of his other grandmother and all but pushed her firstborn son away from the kitchen units.

"Charlie! Melissa! Come bring big appetites, Granny's makin' breakfast!" she sang out, while Mrs Reed cringed from the halloos of delight that greeted the announcement.

"They're tryin' to help, Mal." Busying himself with the cutlery while the Englishman buried his spinning head in the refrigerator, Trip made sure to bump hips when passing his husband. "Guess it's natural folks wanna fuss around a baby."

"As long as Dad doesn't take it up!"

Trip's snort reverberated around the kitchen and earned him a glare from his mother. "Sorry," he yelped. Leanne beamed.

"You've gotta watch your manners in front of the children, remember. If they hear you makin' those noises, they'll think it's okay for them to do it."

CT4 chose that moment to burp, loudly. "Whoops, beg pardon!" he and Melissa hollered in unison. 

"He did that on purpose," Malcolm mouthed.

Trip's summery eyes gleamed. "And who'd you think taught him?" he whispered, making his escape while the mothers were still cooing over his immaculately-mannered offspring's profusion of apologies.

*

Shadows were lengthening across the back lawn and for what felt like the first time in weeks the house was at peace. Jamie whimpered contentedly on his English grandmother's lap while her American counterpart clacked a pair of antiquated knitting needles together. With Charles II engrossed in a book and Captain Reed in his newspapers the two weary hosts sat side by side on the couch, lulled by the rare tranquillity and the comforting knowledge of the other's closeness.

"He's so adorable, Malcolm." Mrs Reed tore her gaze away from the infant with reluctance to smile at her son "And so like you! I hope his eyes stay as blue as Trip's, though."

"He's got the Tucker nose," Leanne announced. Her husband sighed.

"I try tellin' folks that a Johnson thing," he announced, broad, stubby fingertips lifting to smooth the familiar slope of his. Trip rolled his eyes. "He's a real cutie, though. Was Malcolm this quiet, Mary?"

"Oh, yes, never a peep out of him - unlike his sister." As his wife simpered, Stuart Reed's facial muscles creaked into a definite scowl.

"Noisy creature, Madeleine," he stated. "Always difficult."

"I suppose she's told you about Lieutenant Walker?" Mary would sooner have avoided the subject, Trip gathered, but the hint in her husband's comment refused to be ignored. "Such a _nice_ man! Commodore Bradley's nephew, you know. He's been very attentive but Madeleine flatly _refuses_ to have dinner with him."

"Guess these things only work when both sides want it to." By the standards of men named Charles Tucker, Trip thought that was tactful. Watching Stuart Reed's thin features twist like he'd just bitten a sour plum, he suspected it wasn't.

"It's not as if there are suitors queuing at her door," Madeleine's mother continued plaintively. "And whatever her prejudices, navy men make very _sensible_ husbands."

"Ain't that a ringing endorsement, Stuart?" Johnsons weren't renowned for their diplomatic prowess either, Leanne's son remembered a little too late. "Maybe Maddie's just happy bein' on her own. Lots of folks are these days."

Stuart harrumphed quietly. Mary dropped her eyes to the bundle kicking drowsily in her arms. Trip let go the breath he hadn't known he was holding.

Softly, Mary Reed began to talk to her grandson. In spite of himself Trip strained his ear to listen, unaware the rest of the room was doing the same.

"You're such a lovely boy, Jamie dear, and you're going to grow up kind and handsome like your daddies, aren't you? Yes, and we're all going to be so proud of you, and Charles and Melissa too. James Jonathan is such a fine, _manly_ name! Your Gran's name is Mary, and that's awfully dull, isn't it? I do know a poem about a Mary, though.â"

Quavering and breathy, she began to chant.

"Mary had a little lamb..."

"She kept it near a pylon.  
Ten thousand volts went up its arse,  
And turned its wool to nylon."

"Malcolm Reed! Where in heaven's name did you learn _that_?" While two Charles Tuckers laughed loud enough to shake the light fittings and one grandmother choked delicately into her hand, Mrs Reed fairly rocketed out of her chair and her husband smiled thinly at his son.

"From my father I imagine," he said, and it took a moment for the enormity of what was occurring to permeate the lounge. Stuart Reed was actually chuckling. "That was one of his favourites, along with Little Robin Redbreast...

A second cut-glass accent joined the recital. 

"Sitting on a pole.  
Stuck his head between his legs,  
And whistled up his...

"That will _do_!" Quite pink in the face, Mary wafted a fat hand at the men of her family while further hollers of Tucker mirth started Jamie bawling. "I had no idea your father was such a bad influence on our son!"

"My father was a sailor, Mary, not a country vicar." Stuart was regarding his son with something close to approval, and if it was fleeting it was none the less real. Malcolm basked in its glow, unaware of the radiance it brought to his face. Trip saw, and it stopped his breath.

Moving stealthily, afraid to break the precious thread, he grasped his husband's fingers and squeezed. Malcolm's breathing hitched. "I promise not to teach them to Melissa, Mum," he said sedately.

Around the spacious lounge a whole successions of sighs were exhaled. "Or the boys until they're grown-up," Leanne warned him while barrelling across to assist in Operation _Shush-That-Baby_. "You don't want to be called into school t' explain why Charlie's got the whole class singin' that!"

"Point taken." In that moment, Malcolm realised he wouldn't care. He had something in common with his father. They had, quietly and without fuss, shared a joke. 

This whole visiting lark wasn't so awful after all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's all been going far too well...

By the fifth day of seven, he was revising that charitable opinion. Between over-excited children perpetually wangling treats from too-indulgent grandmothers, a father-in-law who made his gregarious son seem positively shy, and the difficulty of getting a cuddle from either his newborn or his spouse, Malcolm's stress levels were soaring. Throwing them all out into a sunny garden for a picnic had been, if it wasn't immodest to declare it, a stroke of genius on his part.

Melissa's shriek pinged in off the top of the window frame, the sound funnelled down to his crouch at the oven door. The spicy scent of fresh mini pizzas tempted him, but not just yet - Charlie had already burned his mouth on the first batch, and it had taken two pitchers of lemonade and one ice cream cone before he'd settled down.

"Sounds like they're havin' fun." Trip loomed at the back door, one of those emptied jugs in his hands. "We got enough for a refill? Your dad's askin', and Lissa wants to play Mom and pour."

"Don't fill it right to the top, whatever you do." His daughter could play the miniature lady of the manor to perfection, although compliments to that effect usually riled her brother into giving a sneaky pinch that would turn her into a squawking street urchin in a nanosecond. "There are more scones too."

"Be right back." Balancing a plate on one hand and a half-filled jug in the other, Trip wobbled back over the low doorstep and into the sunshine.

Deftly Malcolm flipped the last hot savouries onto a waiting platter and tossed the baking tray into the sink. "D'ink, G'andad!"

"Drink, poppet. _Drink_."

"D'ink!"

On a sharp intake of breath Malcolm steeled himself for the stern rebuke. "Thank you. Just a little, please."

Right, now he needed a phase pistol urgently, because his father had been possessed by an alien entity. He knew the signs; it had happened to him in the past. 

"I think your Dad's kinda sweet on Lissa." Grinning hugely Trip deposited another stack of dishes into sink and turned on the taps, careful not to splash in deference to his husband's neat-freakery. "She just spilled lemonade on his sleeve and he didn't turn a hair."

"P'raps he's mellowing." Scepticism laced his voice. Trip shrugged.

"Maybe. I guess some folks find grandparentin' easier than havin' their own kids." He paused, a small furrow formed between blond eyebrows as he considered the wisdom of what he was about to say. "I've always had the feeling Admiral Reed was easier on you than he was on Stuart, too."

He knew instantly the possibility had never occurred to the acute psychologist he was married to. Malcolm frowned. Crossed his arms. Cocked his head.

"Good grief!" he said faintly. "I'd never thought of that."

"He probably hasn't either." Never had Trip felt so kindly toward his stuffed-shirt of a father-in-law. "Maybe we should have him come visit more often?"

"Steady on!" Malcolm, he surmised, was feeling a little giddy. The hint of a giggle in his voice usually only appeared when alcohol was involved, and the blond's testes twanged hard with the memory of where Malcolm, giggles and booze usually led. 

More than a little light-headed himself he lunged forward to pull the wriggling Englishman into his arms, feeling a small shot of extra adrenaline hit when they connected from chest to thigh. "Maybe not," he agreed, fascinated by the appearance of a pink tongue-tip sliding around Malcolm's lips. "He wouldn't wanna catch us doin' this."

"Doing what?"

The flirtatious question was barely finished before Malcolm had his answer in the form of a slow, sensuous smooch that melted his kneecaps and unleashed a cascade of butterflies through his stomach. "Makin' out," his husband growled, using one hip to jam him up against the crockery cupboards. 

"Mmmm, we can't be caught doing that." Languorous pleasure oozed through every pore. Quite forgetful of the danger he was warning against the brunet pressed up and into the cradle of his partner's thighs, sighing into Trip's devouring kiss. 

Hands roamed over buttocks and backs: mouths melded, tongues sliding sensuously. Time stopped. Familiar surroundings dissolved. "Missed this," Trip slurred when, briefly, the need for air drew them apart. "Please darlin', touch me!"

"Yes!" Complete satisfaction had been beyond their reach from the moment Jamie's cot was placed at their bedside; even this small consolation had been denied since their guests had arrived. The officer in Malcolm Reed knew there was a reason for that. The lover in him chose to ignore it.

Right until the moment it burst in through the back door and smacked him 'round the head. "You boys wanna go get a room or somethin'?"

"Charlie, let them be!" Leanne Tucker was grinning, her husband positively shuddering with the effort of restraining his glee. And while their grandchildren gambolled through around the breakfast table, Stuart and Mary Reed competed to see who could turn reddest in the shortest space of time. While Trip managed an inelegant spin toward the sink, hiding his arousal and plunging both hands into steamy water in a desperate attempt to look casual Malcolm simply stared, his mouth flapping like a landed cod, the apologies cluttering his brain all stuck somewhere on the way to his tongue. "Can't you see they're enjoyin' themselves?"

"Yeah, I can see that." The faint snufflings of Reed embarrassment were drowned out by a burst of pure Tucker glee. "Hell, if you boys made your babies the old-fashioned way we'd be havin' a grandkid a year and you'd need a Starfleet accommodation block, not a house!"

"Frankenstein's children."

Tick-tock. Tick. Tock.

Time hadn't slowed this much since the last time he'd been on the wrong end of an alien disruptor. Malcolm could hear and identify every single individual's breathing pattern and one in particular was making him very, very nervous.

Someone - Mother, no doubt - was mumbling, a faint descant of incoherent apology, defence and explanation. Charlie the Elder bounced on the balls of his feet, rubber soles squealing incongruously on the tiled floor; torn, his son-in-law gathered, between the cowardly urge to bolt and the desire to support his outraged wife. 

He could see _her_ from the corner of his eye, and Malcolm Reed knew that mulish, slightly mottle-complexioned look all too well. Trip always had said his occasional bouts of volcanic temper came down through the Johnson bloodline.

"Mary, how 'bout you take the kids back to clear up the picnic stuff?" Deceptively quiet, the smallest adult in the room suddenly became its dominant presence and Mrs Reed couldn't obey fast enough, not even noticing the sticky chocolate coating that adorned her granddaughter's pudgy little paw. "Charlie Tucker, you stay right where you are, and you, Stuart Reed - you apologise to these boys right now, you hear?"

"I - ahem - that is..."

"Oh, don'T you try wrigglin' like an eel on a line! That was cruel, rude and downright damn unnecessary, and you know it."

Maybe he'd done her a disservice, Malcolm considered. Despite her furious demeanour, Leanne Tucker's voice was quiet, her words lethally controlled. If it wasn't for her son's petrified posture (and absolute refusal to turn around from the sink into which his hands were still plunged, most likely scalding) he might almost allow himself to relax. Perhaps it wasn't going to be bloody after all.

Except for his father's face, of course. _Well, I never knew the old bastard had that much blood in him!_

"Those boys are the best damn parents any kid could grow up with," Leanne continued, as if said boys weren't listening to every word. "They're a wonderful, supportive, devoted couple, and I don't know about you, but me an' Charlie - and I think Mary too - are real proud to call them our sons."

"Mom, leave it. Please?"

"No, darlin', I'm not sitting here and takin' crap like that from anybody, and Malcolm - honey I'm sorry, I know he's your daddy but I've gotta say my piece. Stuart Reed, you should be ashamed of yourself!! Hell, you've said you'll get no grandkids the old-fashioned way from Madeleine, and you know what? I'm startin' to think you wouldn't deserve them!

"Lee, you've said your piece, now leave it, yeah? You're embarrassin' the boys."

And her husband, but the eldest Tucker male knew better than to admit it. _There's some strategic sense in the family after all, Malcolm my lad!_

"I apologise, gentlemen." The words creaked painfully from his throat, but given the way his adam's apple was jumping Malcolm wondered at his father getting them out at all. "I - ah - well..."

He glanced aside, reading all the emotions he was holding back in his husband's contorted face. Shock, horror, disgust. Even disappointment, which Lord knew he had no right to feel. Dad had never made it secret; he didn't like his son and heir being _different_ in every conceivable way from the family template.

"It's okay, Dad. We..."

The word stopped on his tongue. No, damn it, he _didn't_ understand, and what was more, he had absolutely no bloody desire to. Not when his guts were full of lead and his poor, sweet, guileless Trip looked so distraught. "It's okay," he finished feebly, drawing strength from the soapy hand that emerged from the sink to snatch his. 

"Momma, why don't you go help keep the kids outta the flowerbeds, looks like Mary's got her hands full out there." Much too loud, its habitual cheeriness painfully forced, Trip's voice broke over the kitchen like an ocean wave but he kept his gaze firmly diverted away from his flustered father-in-law. "Darlin' you want me to get on with Jamie's bottle? He's gonna be howlin' any minute now..."

"Please, love." The endearment was instinctive; unthinking. Not, Malcolm considered, that his father was likely to believe it. Stuart Reed's considerable colour heightened further.

_Just what I need; the old bugger having a coronary in my sodding kitchen!_

"Charlie, Stuart, why don't you go make yourselves useful and move Jamie's crib into our room?" Once she got on a roll there was no stopping Leanne Tucker. "You two boys need a little quality time together, I figure; that and a good night's sleep, which I'm bettin' you ain't had since the baby arrived." 

Trip lit up like their old Enterprise cabin on Christmas Eve. "Aw, Mom! You don't hafta..."

"I know hon, but I want to." Brushing the older men aside, Leanne dragged her son into a fierce hug that made his bones audibly creak. "You and Malcolm need time for each other, all parents do; and it's not easy when all the folks come visitin' at once. You prob'ly don't remember how it was after Chris was born, with all those Tuckers an' Johnsons pilin in at once! Your Daddy and I never came closer to the divorce courts!"

"Or the county jail," Charlie added, grinning at the memory. "Hell, Lee, if your momma hadn't gone home when she did..."

"You go move that crib, and no, Malcolm, I'm not going to listen to any 'f your objections, so don't go wasting them, okay? Charlie Tucker, what're you doin' just standin' around with your mouth open, haven't I given you a job to do? Now scram - get that baby's stuff into our room for tonight. I'll grab some spare diapers, but you'll have to leave his bottle in the stasis unit for me, I'm not draggin' my ass down into a cold kitchen at three in the mornin' for anybody, you hear?"

"He's quite a considerate child; it's usually nearer four." Over all his years in the tactical stream Malcolm Reed had learned to recognise when defeat was inevitable, and the moment he saw his father meekly shuffling into Charlie Tucker's ebullient wake to do a Southern belle's bidding, he saw it staring him smack in the face. "And - thank you. He's an angel of course, but..."

"You need a little _me time_ , both of you." His mother-in-law patted him lightly on arm, her expression sobering. "And I'm sorry. I didn't mean t' upset you, yellin' at your daddy like that..."

"I should be used to him by now; it's his upsetting Trip I can't stomach." Pushing up onto his toes, Malcolm brushed a kiss across his husband's still-glowing cheek. "And that honestly wasn't meant as a dig - I think. It was just..."

"Thoughtless." Standing on the back doorstep, effectively blocking her grandchildren's access, Mary Reed supplied the word her son couldn't quite force out. "You father didn't mean to offend, Malcolm, he's just a bit old-fashioned about things."

"He's bloody Victorian, Mum, and you know it." Now the awful confrontational element was behind him - how ridiculous that a Starfleet captain whose professional reputation was built on combativeness should shrink from any conflict that didn't involve phase pistols and the risk of physical harm - Malcolm found he was actually almost relaxed. The steam had stopped seeping from his beloved's shapely ears; Mother and Leanne were regarding each other with something close to amusement, and in the garden two small voices were raised in oblivious laughter. 

Life was good, and thanks to a mother-in-law's kindness he had the hope of it getting even better in the immediate term. A demonstration of patented _Stuart Reed_ surly insensitivity could bounce off his personalised hull plating like a Mark I phase cannon blast off a Klingon bow. 

"I do." Mary Reed cleared her throat, clasped her plump little hands and sighed. "Leanne dear, why don't we help Melissa with those daisy chains she was chattering about? She's determined to make a crown for herself, but Charles _will_ keep stamping on them..."

"Charles Tucker the Fourth, I'll be crowning you with those infernal weeds if you don't leave your sister to play nicely with her Grandmothers!" Paternal irritation effectively wiped out any other emotion as Malcolm squeezed past his mother to holler into the garden. His son's protesting "Aww, Daddy!" was enough to return a soft, rueful smile to his face immediately.

"C'mon, let's go make these daisy chains." Beaming, Mrs Tucker grabbed her son by the hand, ignoring a protest longer, louder and much more petulant than her grandson's. Shaking his head Malcolm ambled in their wake, glad to have some innocent occupation to divert his mind from the decidedly naughty path the bumps and bangs of a cot being manhandled down from the master suite were trying to send it.

He really would have to remember to send Leanne a proper old fashioned thank-you card when she and Charlie finally went home.


	4. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very short happy ending.

Pale, reluctant light shafted between the carelessly closed drapes across the master suite's full-length windows. "Malcolm?"

The smaller portion of a blanket-smothered lump in the middle of the oversized bed twitched. "Wha'?"

"What time is it?"

One hand wandered out from beneath the covers, groping aimlessly until the fingers closed around a small chronometer. Tousled dark locks appeared, tumbling into bleary grey eyes. "Four-fifteen, precisely," the Englishman announced through a yawn. "Why?"

The bigger lump juddered, an arm swinging clear of bedding to tug him back down. "'s good. Means we don't hafta get up yet, right?"

"Not sure I'm ever going to get up again." Happily allowing himself to be re-gathered in a cosy embrace Malcolm planted a kiss on the nearest portion of his husband's anatomy - that rippling bicep. Every muscle felt molten; the sinews, usually so taut, soft and loose. "It's been a while since we've been quite this busy."

"Four times?" Trip's tired body reacted with a small preen to such proof of its continued virility. "Maybe that anniversary before Lissa was born? Uncle Johnny took care of Charlie, and I..."

"Swept me off to that lovely little cabin in the mountains." It wasn't a preen that rippled through Malcolm; it was a full-on shudder of remembered delight. " _That_ was a weekend and a half!"

"Sure was." 

For a few contented moments both men were silent; each, Tucker suspected, counting their blessings that, fifteen years on from infatuation's first flush, their passions remained the combustible envy of couples half their age. Maybe life could wear him down; work, kids and colleagues could combine to exhaust him. But tire of Malcolm Reed's touch in the dark? Never!

"Your mother's awfully good to us."

"Guess she realised I was gettin' a little desperate."

"You and me both, love." Nuzzling and sated, Malcolm could see a humour in the situation that would have been lacking any other time. "But if every birth means another mass parental descents... Promise me, no more babies!"

"No more." Charles, Melissa and James: the names fit together perfectly and anyway Dad had been right: any more and they'd be needing a bigger house. The thought made Trip snicker and earned him a nudge in the ribs from his mate. "I don't think the grandparents could take a fourth any more than we could!"

Though the words were casual the tone was sombre, and Malcolm knew why. "I'm sorry Dad's so bloody awful, Trip," he said quietly. "I suppose the other night, when we connected for a moment, I thought he might've accepted... It must be what keeps Mum going, those moments when he actually seems like a genuine human being."

Secretly Trip doubted his mother-in-law retained any illusions but it didn't seem the time to question Malcolm's touching faith. "What your Daddy thinks about us don't matter to me, Mal," he said instead as he settled his partner more comfortably in the crook of one arm. "I've got you and the kids. Long as I got that, I got enough."

"Oh, Trip." Tears sprang unwanted into Malcolm's eyes and he struggled, dragging himself up enough to plant a long, slow smacker on the Southerner's smiling lips. "I adore you, do you know that? And I wonder... could we impose on your mother a bit longer, do you think?"

"I'm sure Mom'll be happy to take care of the kids while we have a nice, long lie-in." The slow smile uncurling over his husband's fine-cut features turned Trip Tucker's heart clean over. "If thatâ€™s what you had in mind, Cap'n Reed."

"Indeed, Captain Tucker." Five times a night? Surrendering himself to his husband's ardent kiss, Trip decided that would suit him just about fine.


End file.
